What Could Have Been
by randylikestowritethings
Summary: In the Death Weapon Meister Academy, weapons are seen as no more than tools. Maka Albarn has only recently enrolled in the DWMA, and has been entrusted with one of the school's most faulty weapons, Soul Eater. Through long terms of trial and error and late night whispers, Maka starts to understand the atrocities that Death has committed against the weapon population.
1. Prologue

_**What Could Have Been**_

 **Summary -** In the Death Weapon Meister Academy, weapons are seen as no more than tools. They are kept from their human form through a special type of magic called _Transfer Block_ , or TB, trained never to speak or defy their meister's orders. Maka Albarn, the child of a weapon and a rebel meister, has only recently enrolled in the DWMA, and has been entrusted with one of the school's most faulty weapons, Soul Eater. Through long terms of trial and error, late night whispers, and quiet fantasies, Maka starts to understand the atrocities that Death has committed against the weapon population.

 **Chapter One - Prologue**

...

 _Transfer Block, better known as the abbreviation TB, was first created by one of the original Death Reapers, Asura. Some believe he proposed TB only as treatment for malfunctioning weapons, for fear of the weapon engulfing its meister's soul, but Death saw it as a way to keep all possibly rambunctious weapons under control. Vajra, Asura's weapon partner, strongly detested the method, calling it, "Inhumane toward any and all weapons, regardless of dysfunction."_

Quiet, careful fingers brushed through old, worn pages, skipping past the introduction and to what had captured their owner's interest in the index.

 _TB acts as a barricade between any weapon's two forms. Once a weapon has been treated with TB, it is virtually impossible for said weapon to change back to its human form. Should the weapon try, it will experience Basic Obstruction Leading Transfer, or BOLT, a shot of displeasing electricity. In some cases, the weapon will develop a tolerance to BOLT, and thus gain the ability to shift to human form for short periods of time. However, this is extremely rare, only found in advanced Death Scythes._

"So that's how," whispered a voice, soft and curious. The fingers continued to leaf through the pages, then stopped as another paragraph caught their attention.

 _TB is applied through a series of separate injections. The weapon MUST be in its individual weapon form when treated, to ensure that it is suitable for a meister to use. The first injection, popularly referred to as Cease Prep, or CP, is applied to the weapon's upper arm when in human form. This is only after the weapon has shown signs of its opposite form as a child, or if there is an extremely strong possibility that they will soon after CP. The second injection, Soul Stabilizer (SS), is applied to the weapon's solar plexus precisely two weeks after CP. SS ensures that the weapon's soul wavelengths are stable enough to be synced with a meister. The third and final injection, TB itself, is applied to the weapon's handle (or the palm for glove type weapons) as soon as it shows the ability to perform a full transformation._

"Maka?" A voice prodded gently, just in time with a graying brunette head peering around the tall bookshelves. A young girl, sporting blonde pigtails and wide green eyes, jumped slightly, looking up. She sat at a table, a thick, opened book in front of her, its pages yellowed and moth bitten. "Oh, hi, Missus Jones," Maka gently closed the book, standing. "Sorry I've been here so long. I just wanted to do some research for tomorrow."

Missus Jones, a stout, middle aged woman, nodded in understanding. "It's no problem, sweetheart," she shuffled forward, taking the book from Maka's outstretched hands. "Are you nervous? The DWMA is such a big school. I'm sure it must be scary."

Maka laughed as she gathered her coat from the back of her chair. "Just a little," she agreed, throwing her arms through the sleeves and buttoning the front. "Don't worry about me, though. I should be fine, really. Mother took me with her one day, when she had a meeting with Death." An admiring sigh left the girl's lips, and she smiled in a way one could only describe as dreamily. "The inside is so beautiful."

The librarian hummed, a fond glint in her soft brown eyes. "I'm sure you'll fit in just fine, Maka," she paused, gathering a few other stray books from the table. "How is your mother, by the way? I haven't heard much from her since... you know."

Almost in a chain reaction, Maka's smile faded, then fell. A solemn look overcame her young face, and she played vaguely with the hems of her coat's sleeves. "I haven't either," admitted the girl, and Missus Jones immediately apologized quietly. Again, Maka smiled, though this time it was more tired than anything. "It's okay. She's busy, that's all. Maybe she'll send me a letter soon. Death said he'd tell her about my enrollment."

A worried frown overtook Missus Jones's round features, and she opened her mouth to say something else, but seemed to decide against it. Instead, she shook her head, and smiled back at Maka encouragingly. "I'm sure she will, sweetheart." From somewhere else in the library, the deep chimes of a grandfather clock sang ten in the evening, and Missus Jones tossed up her free hand in surprise. "Oh! Come now, you should be getting home. You've got an early day tomorrow."

Hurriedly, she shooed Maka out from between the bookshelves, and soon after out the door. Maka laughed the whole way, assuring the librarian that she was fine, she still had plenty of time to get home. "Go on now, get," Missus Jones waved at the girl as she left down the street, chuckling herself. "I want to hear all about it when you get back!"

Eventually, Maka turned the corner and was out of sight. Slowly, Missus Jones's hand fell back to her side, and a tired sigh left her lips. "Oh, Kami," she whispered, shaking her head, "What have you and Spirit gotten yourselves into?"

* * *

 **so**

 **this**

 **i shouldn't even be doing this atm, especially with GOL also in progress, but my grad is on the 23rd and i'm in a super good mood 'cause i get to see FOB live on Thursday and then go to Darien Lake on the 25th**

 **for those of you who dunno who i am, it's okay. i'm not all that popular anyway. my tumblr's viva-la-plutofuckyou, tho, if you wanna check that out _andalsothisisanaccountfromwhenididn'tevenknowwhatpropergrammarwastbhi'msosorry_**

 **ENJOY**

 **hashtag hella,**

 **~ viva (Bookworm210)**


	2. The Beginning of Everything

_**What Could Have Been**_

 **Summary -** In the Death Weapon Meister Academy, weapons are seen as no more than tools. They are kept from their human form through a special type of magic called _Transfer Block_ , or TB, trained never to speak or defy their meister's orders. Maka Albarn, the child of a weapon and a rebel meister, has only recently enrolled in the DWMA, and has been entrusted with one of the school's most faulty weapons, Soul Eater. Through long terms of trial and error, late night whispers, and quiet fantasies, Maka starts to understand the atrocities that Death has committed against the weapon population.

 **Chapter Two - The Beginning of Everything**

...

Tall, red archways stretched above Maka's head, as she tried and failed not to peek eagerly at the surroundings between them.

The night before, she'd walked straight home and put her coat in the wash, then studied even more on the school's history. As it turned out, Death had a son, Death the Kid, who was rumored to be snide toward TB and anything associated with it. Recently, Kid has rescued two untreated pistol weapons off the street, and allowed them to shift between weapon and human form as they pleased. Death wasn't too happy about it, but he assured that should Kid's weapons turn on him, the young meister could take care of himself.

What Maka found strange was how anyone could be snide toward TB. Of course, there was the occasional rights activist that had a tendency to wander around Death City, but they were always taken care of once a meister explained the process to them. Really, there was no harm in Transfer Block, as long as the weapon remained obedient. One argument was always used against that, though; BOLT. If TB was _really_ harmless, then what about BOLT? Why was it there, and why did it bring pain to weapons if all they wanted to do was change back to their rightful form?

Maka shook her head. What was she thinking? TB _kept_ weapons in their rightful form, didn't it? And on top of that, it kept the meister safe, should the weapon turn and try to kill its wielder.

A sudden yell erected the young blonde's attention. Slowing, she paused and squinted, managing to make out the end of the tunnel of archways. Some thirty feet down, a platform sat, a mirror standing high on the edge and the general blurs of people in the middle. Or at least, she thought it was people. Mostly, it was two black blurs and then another two lighter blurs. The tallest black one looked to be holding something in both hands, but Maka wasn't sure.

"You don't understand, Father," someone was shouting. A boy, and Maka presumed it was the shorter black blur, for it was flailing its limbs erratically. The meister moved a bit closer. "Weapons are people as well. Transfer Block does no good for anyone! It simply interferes with soul resonance _and_ harms the weapon's ability to reach full potential!"

Something else was said, as the taller black blur swayed slightly. One of the lighter blurs moved forward and began to pull away the shorter black one, and soon the boy and the two lighter blurs were moving down the tunnel at an infuriated pace. Maka moved to the side as they neared, and stormed right past her, practically unaware of her presence.

The shorter black blur was indeed a boy, donning a black suit with different white accents. His eyes were a smoldering gold, and his black hair adorned three identical stripes on the left side. Standing to his left was a small, bubbly looking blonde, a cowboy hat on her short hair. Her red sweater top did nothing to hide her bust, and her wide shorts exaggerated her hips, something Maka blanched at. On the boy's right side was a taller blonde with longer hair, wearing the same outfit as the other, but with jeans and considerably smaller breasts. She had her hand on the boy's shoulder, murmuring what Maka guessed were comforts in his ears, because the farther away they got from the platform, the less tense he seemed to become.

It must have been Death's son, Maka realized, and his twin pistol weapons. For a moment, the young meister found herself astonished. The pistols looked so _human._ Maka had always imagined that weapons held a semblance to weapon form, when parading as human. A blade as an arm, a trigger as a finger, maybe just the weapon pattern across flesh and skin. But Kid's pistols looked completely normal. Had Maka not known better, she almost would have thought that it was just a trio of meisters.

After a moment, she remembered what she was there for in the first place. Shaking her head, Maka turned and made the rest of the way to the platform. The taller black blur came into focus, and she noticed with a start that it was Death. They had only ever spoken through letters, and after hearing he had a son, Maka had assumed that Death looked human. But instead, he was a shapeless black mass, with a pure white mask obscuring whatever features he possibly could've had.

In each large, white hand he held a scythe. The left one was a black cross staff, the blade sporting black and silver teeth. Simple, but lethal. As Maka rested her eyes on it, the blade shimmered and the handle groaned beneath Death's hold, a spark of blue electricity running across where the blade met the staff. The young meister jumped, stumbling back a few steps. Was that BOLT? Had it just tried to change, in Death's hands of all things? Shaking her head, she turned her wide green eyes to the other scythe.

A silver staff and a red and black toothed blade. Nothing too fancy, but what caught Maka's attention was the connection point. The top of the staff was thicker than the rest, and in the center was a striking, white oval. As ridiculous as it was, Maka felt as though it were staring at her, while she both tried to figure out why it was there and why it was so unnerving. But her attempts for futile, so she simply appointed her gaze to Death, who she felt would smile if he could.

"You must be Maka," he greeted. Everything just seemed to be one surprise after the other; Death's voice was high and cheery, whereas the way she'd pictured it, Death had a foreshadowing voice. It only made sense for the inevitable end of all living beings to have a deep, fear inflicting baritone, instead of the welcoming tones of a candy store owner. But instead of commenting, Maka smiled and nodded her head, bowing. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Death. I'm especially excited you let me into the DWMA."

Death nodded back as she straightened, then looked thoughtful. How such a plain mask could have such expression, Maka would never know. "It's a pleasure to have you, Maka. If you're anything like your mother, you'll make a very powerful meister," he paused, and seemed to choose his words carefully. "Now, Maka, before you go down and meet all of your classmates, I've a favor to ask of you."

Maka frowned. Immediately, bells went off in her head, but she paid no mind to the warning. The instant Death finished speaking, the black and silver scythe sparked furiously, so badly that Death had to drop it lest he get shocked, too. For a moment, it began to glow, and Maka gasped. Death snapped his fingers, the sound echoing across the endless landscape around them, and the weapon dropped frozen still. A small, blue spark lingered, then died out. The weapon remained silent, making no further moves to transform.

For a long moment, all was silent, before Maka turned her attention to Death. The large black mass had his gaze locked on the weapon, even when Maka breathlessly asked, "Wh-What was that?"

Death breathed in, turned to the young meister, and adopted his bright demeanor once more. "My apologies, Maka," he shook his head. "Usually, Death Scythe isn't so rambunctious. Perhaps it thought you were someone else."

"Death Scythe," Maka mumbled to herself, drawing a hand up to her chest and examining the grounded weapon. The blade shined dimly at her. "Is that the weapon my mother made?"

"The very one," Death confirmed. Maka marveled at it. Her mother had told stories about Death Scythe, before she'd left. Such a powerful weapon, she'd always say. Stubborn, too, but reliable. But before she could ask more, Death pulled her thoughts away from that weapon, and to the one still held in his hand.

"Now, Maka, you have your mother's blood in you. Already, you're a very powerful meister," he held out the red and black toothed scythe. The white oval in the center of the connection point still stared blankly up at her. "This is Soul Eater. No one else has been able to handle its antics, but I trust that with your mother's instinct and knowledge, you'll be able to wield it."

Death smiled at her, or smiled the best he could. "Do you think you can give it a try?"

Try? Her? Maka had never even held a weapon before, much less wielded one. How was Death sure that she could handle a weapon nobody else could? Besides, a name like Soul Eater wasn't exactly welcoming. Death must have seen her hesitance, for he gestured with the weapon encouragingly. Slowly, Maka lifted her gloved hands and wrapped her fingers carefully around the silver staff. Death let go of it, and immediately, Maka almost had a heart attack.

The blank white oval suddenly wasn't blank anymore. Instead, an unholy red eye glared at her, utter hatred prominent in its bloody iris. Maka yelped, dropping the weapon and stumbling back. The scythe clattered to the ground, blue sparks flying, and she could have sworn she heard a boy shouting, but that must have been Death. The big black mass leaped forward, looking ready to strike Hell down upon Soul Eater, but the weapon quieted. The sparks faded away, and the eye swiveled, turning to look at Maka straight on.

Of all the words she could have used, the young meister decided that it was unnerving. Soul Eater's flaming stare tied her stomach in knots and shoved her head into her throat, almost where she felt she might throw it up. But it wasn't only the scythe's gaze that startled her. When she'd wrapped her hold around the handle, she'd _felt_ her soul flare terrifyingly with power, and with hostility. For a brief moment, she'd felt Soul Eater's fury, and it had made her want to pull her fist back and punch Death right in the mask.

"Are you alright, Maka?" Death asked. His hands had disappeared, so he really was just a large, black mass, but Maka now found him no more frightening than Soul Eater. "Y-Yes. I'm fine," she smiled wobbly at Death, then stepped forward. Once she was beside Soul Eater, she knelt down, tearing her gaze from the iris that followed her every move to examine the staff and the blade. Death stood still, and she could feel his gaze digging into her back as she slowly reached out her hands and hovered them over Soul Eater's silver handle.

The eye darted down to her gloved fingers, and small sparks began to chew away at her palms. Immediately, she drew her hands away, and waited until the sparks were gone to lower them back down again. The eye flung between her hands, Death, her face, and back again, and as Maka brushed her fingers against Soul Eater's handle, anxiety and fear flared in her chest. "It's okay," she murmured absently, and Death's stare intensified, as the eye directed its gaze back to her face. Gently, she rested her palm against the flat of the blade, and curled her free fingers around the staff.

A foreign mix of curiosity, anger and panic mingled in her stomach, as something latched onto her soul and clutched tightly. Shakily, she stood, but kept a firm hold on Soul Eater, one hand still on the blade in a way that she hoped was soothing. The eye flickered back and forth, and something in her gut told her that it was searching her face. Tentatively, whatever gripped her soul loosened, instead adopting a gentle hold, and Maka got the sudden urge to get far, far away from Death.

"You're free to return home," Death said, once she had gotten her feet steadily beneath her. Curiously, she turned to look at him, and he continued. "Since you'll be wielding a more difficult weapon, you'll have to come here every day for classes. You'll learn everything you'll need to know to keep Soul Eater under control."

The urge to get away strengthened, and Maka nodded. "If anything happens, just send for me," Death smiled. "There should be a patrol on the streets."

"Thank you," Maka bowed, making sure not to hit Soul Eater against the ground. After a moment, she straightened, and moved past Death, toward the tunnel of archways. The farther away she got, the calmer she felt, but even as she reached the halls bustling with student meisters holding their weapons, she could still feel Death's stare boring holes into her back.

* * *

 **and so it begins**

 **~ viva (Bookworm210)**


End file.
